2016 — 22 September: Thursday
After undergoing something of a rôle reversal, and consulting a neighbour yesterday1 I shall now be subtly changing my "black bin" methodology in future. I've already brought a mixture of domestic bleach and very hot water to bear to good effect. Now I just need to tweak some of my handling and temp storage, to put it in CICS terms. No flies on me!
Today's treat...
... is a lunch somewhere. And I'm to be introduced to a TV series called "Lucifer". I believe that's the character spun off from Gaiman's "Sandman" universe showing what happens when he gets fed up of running Hell, hands over the keys, and comes to North America to open up a nightclub in L.A. for a change of pace (if not style and clients).
Fork handles?
Best I could do.
Another byproduct of the eating out habit is that it obliterates the distinction between the lasting and the fleeting. Recently, I was browsing the shops on Pine Street in Philadelphia and happened into one where the owner, a weary-looking older woman reading a book at the counter, seemed surprised to see me enter. After I purchased a pair of candlesticks, we chatted a bit about the neighborhood. "This used to be one of the city's best shopping streets," she said. "But now, nobody buys things. All the young people do is buy food."
Candlesticks? Really?
An observation
Switching 95% or so of my computing to Skylark, connected to the 34" Dell via DisplayPort, and relegating BlackBeast to access via the NoMachine Remote Desktop — all for the sake of letting the massively-underused i5 NUC have the other HDMI connection (and thus work at full resolution) — seems to have cured the "DisplayPort Sleep of Death" syndrome. There's a certain amount of small scale USB-juggling still to be worked on, but I've found that USB connected devices tend to be at their best under Linux shortly after connection.
I clearly need more snake oil.
Having swung past...
... my GP's surgery to 'decline' the opportunity of any flu-jabbing, I then moved along to Waitrose to equip myself for my new "tough on grime, tough on the causes of grime" policy. The black bin now reeks of the odour of sanctity, courtesy of a product I didn't even know existed until yesterday. Bacterial death in powder form, shaken from a Jeyes "Freshbin Lemon fresh" container. Which, because of the odd way my memory works, reminds me of something I'd said in an email to Carol a while back:
Of course, not being as technical as Junior, I can't do magic things like log on to my home email at work. Actually, I expect I can, but life's a bit short, and the percentage of Nigerian Dictator buried treasure offers, assorted drugs, loans, and anatomic modifiers and extensions coming to my home address is steadily increasing in any case. The more I contemplate Gresham's Law as it might be applied to the world of email, the more I'm reminded of the comment of the Piccadilly Circus lavatory attendant on the London Underground (an infamous haunt of junkies and much worse) who said (or is said to have said) "when people come in here just for a s**t it's like a breath of fresh air!"
Which for some reason reminds me to tell you that I've just finished "Freakonomics" and can well understand why it upset various sets of your population — what we call the chattering classes, at any rate. Moderately recommended.
I've just finished...
... watching Season #4 of "Big Bang Theory" and am still finding it a hoot. I'm also picking up many more of the cultural references, and even recognising some of the array of guest stars.